


I Have Rights, You Know

by emphasisonem



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Skinny!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 08:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8094982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emphasisonem/pseuds/emphasisonem
Summary: “Hey!” Steve shouts, attempting to wriggle from their strong grasp as they pull him toward the door. “Hey, what is this?  You can’t just come into a person’s workplace and drag them out without tellin’m what’s goin’ on! I have rights you know! I’m an American, god damn it!”“Mr. Rogers, if you could please just remain-” Agent Romanov begins, but then the front door of the bookshop slams open and a slightly disheveled brunet stumbles in. “Christ, I forgot how fuckin’ awful parkin’ is in this neighborhood,” the man chuckles, and Steve is still angry and struggling, but it’s sort of hard not to be charmed by that grin.
   In which Steve's phone is linked to criminal activity, and Bucky Barnes is sure that this can't be the right guy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for the lack of updates - work's been insane, and I've been feeling a little under the weather. A lovely person on tumblr wanted an FBI-style meet-cute between these two, though, so obviously I had to oblige. Hope you like it!

If you had asked Steven Grant Rogers before today to recount his worst day at the bookstore, his response would have been instantaneous and amusing: the day that fucking pigeon had managed to get into the shop.

Steve’d grin as he’d tell you about how the bird had dive-bombed Wanda and how the young woman had shouted as she dove for cover under the front counter. He’d smirk as he described Sam’s expletive-laced call to animal control, and about how he and Pietro had attempted to get the bird back onto the street with nothing but a broom and a mop. He’d laugh as he recalled the fact that it had only been his second week on the job when it happened.

Of course, that’s if you’d asked Steve about his worst day before today. Because today is definitely beating out Birdmageddon, as the four of them had jokingly named it.

“Steven Grant Rogers?” A redhead in a smart navy suit calls out. She’s flanked by two guys in dark suits and white button-ups, bland and discreet. They make Steve a little nervous.

“Yes?” Steve calls out from where he’s stocking new releases in fiction. “Can I help you?”

“Mr. Rogers, I’m Agent Romanov with the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” the redhead pulls out a badge, and her colleagues do the same, flashing their credentials. “These are Agents Jones and Morita, and I’m afraid we need you to come with us.”

Steve’s blue eyes widen as he stumbles down the ladder. “Excuse me?”

“What’s goin’ on out here?” Sam calls out as he strides out from his office in the back. His brows shoot toward his hairline at the sight of three feds in his shop. “Steve, what the hell is this?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Steve replies, eyes narrowing as Agents Jones and Morita approach him, grabbing his bony arms.

“Hey!” Steve shouts, attempting to wriggle from their strong grasp as they pull him toward the door. “Hey, what is this?  You can’t just come into a person’s workplace and drag them out without tellin’m what’s goin’ on! I have rights you know! I’m an American, god damn it!”

“Mr. Rogers, if you could please just remain-” Agent Romanov begins, but then the front door of the bookshop slams open and a slightly disheveled brunet stumbles in.

“Christ, I forgot how fuckin’ awful parkin’ is in this neighborhood,” the man chuckles, and Steve is still angry and struggling, but it’s sort of hard not to be charmed by that grin. The man’s short, dark hair is wet; it must have started raining, Steve thinks. He runs a hand through it, gray eyes with a hint of blue widening as he takes in the scene before him. They remind Steve of the Hudson River on overcast days.

 _Rogers_ , Steve berates himself. _The FBI is trying to haul you out of work for reasons unknown and you’re gonna let yourself get distracted by sharp cheekbones and pretty eyes? Get it the fuck together._

“Agent Barnes,” Romanov drawls,rolling her eyes. “So nice of you to join us.” For a moment, Steve’s actually halfway amused.

“Are you kidding?” the brunet whirls to face the redhead, a small smirk curling at the corner of his lips as he gestures toward Steve. _“This guy?_ There’s no way-”

“Would someone please-” Steve thunders, glaring around the room- “Tell me what the fuck is goin’ on here? And Sam, if you could grab my inhaler, that’d be great. I think I’m gonna have an asthma attack.”

 

* * *

 

If you had asked James Buchanan Barnes before today to recount his best day as an FBI agent, he’d tell you about the day he, Natasha and their task force had finally busted Alexander Pierce and the rest of his drug smuggling operation.

Of course, that was before Director Fury had pulled the two of them into his office this morning and informed them that the Bureau had a lead on a cell phone connected to the drug ring.

“The ring we shut down two months ago?” Natasha asks, tone incredulous. “How is that even possible? We arrested everyone connected with that operation.”

“Apparently not.” Fury’s tone is dry, and Bucky would swear there’s a miniscule smile the man’s struggling to keep at bay. “We intercepted a phone call regarding the previously-defunct operation. Evidently, somebody managed to avoid detection the first time around and has decided to start up the business again.”

“Cocaine’s a hell of a drug,” Bucky quips, immediately lowering his eyes as Fury glares at him. The man’s only got one good eye, but that just makes it all the more intimidating. “Sorry, boss. We got a location on the phone the calls are comin’ from? A name?”

“We do, Barnes,” Fury’s voice has an edge to it that suggests Bucky’s going to be buried in at least one mountain of paperwork once he and Natasha have returned from checking out this cell phone lead. “The phone is registered to a Steven Grant Rogers. His work address in Brooklyn should be in your inboxes momentarily, along with audio files of the suspicious phone calls. Take Jones and Morita with you; we don’t know if the guy’s armed or not.”

Now Bucky’s standing in a bookstore in Brooklyn, watching a small, but incredibly attractive blond man attempting to struggle against his colleagues while having an asthma attack. This should arguably be one of the worst days of his career.

But there’s something about the fire in the blond’s blue eyes as he turns his gaze to Bucky that warms the brunet from the inside out.

Call Bucky crazy, but he’s got a good feeling about today. Because there’s absolutely no way this adorable man is the guy they’re looking for. Bucky knows it.

 

* * *

 

“He doesn’t sound anything like the voice on the calls, Nat,” Steve hears the brunet murmur to Romanov as the other two agents release him. Steve grabs his inhaler from Sam, taking a few puffs of the medication. He feels a surge of relief as his breathing begins to even out.

“What calls?” Steve asks once he’s caught his breath. Barnes turns and regards him with slightly amused eyes, before turning back to Romanov and tilting his head to the side, asking a silent question. The redhead sigh and nods.

Barnes turns back to Steve with a small smile. “Listen,” he says, voice low and gentle, and desire should not be curling low in Steve’s belly at the sound of that voice, but it is. “You got some place where we can sit and chat? We just have a few questions and then we’ll be on our way. I’d rather nip this in the bud now than have to take you back to the field office with us.”

Steve’s eyes are narrowed in suspicion, but he nods slowly anyway. He leads all of them into the back room where they take seats around an old wooden table. Steve turns his gaze back to the brunet, waiting for an explanation.

“Mr. Rogers, we have some questions we’d like to ask about some suspicious calls that you’ve made recently,” Barnes asks, and Steve can feel his eyes widening.

“Excuse me?” Steve narrows his eyes, trying to control the anger in his voice. “Are you telling me that you’ve been listening in on my phone calls?”

 

* * *

 

“Mr. Rogers, if we could just-” Natasha begins, but the blond man cuts her off. It’s a genuine struggle for Bucky not to grin as the small man begins gesticulating wildly and shouting at his partner.

“This seems like a gross violation of personal privacy,” Steve snaps, bright blue eyes burning with righteous indignation, and _Christ_ , this guy’s the cutest fuckin’ thing Bucky’s ever seen in his life. “I have rights you know; you can’t just listen in on my phone calls. What about the Bill of Rights, huh?”

“Mr. Rogers,” Bucky keeps his voice as even and soothing as possible as he addresses the smaller man. The other agents remain silent, seeming to pick up on the fact that Bucky appears to be the only one Steve’s willing to listen to. “I understand your frustration here, but if you’d do me a favor and answer a couple of my questions, we’ll be able to get out of your hair a little faster, all right?”

The blond grumbles unintelligibly, but nods, and Bucky smiles. All of them sit down and the man Steve called Sam leans in the doorway. Actual introductions are briefly made before Bucky gets down to business.

“The trouble is, Mr. Rogers, your phone has been linked to some calls and messages where illicit activity is discussed,” Bucky explains. “We need to understand what’s going on here.”

Steve sighs, running a hand through his short hair. Bucky wonders what it would feel like to tangle his fingers in that hair and tug while he’s got Steve pressed up against a wall, lips trailing down that slender, elegant throat.

 _Jesus tap-dancin’ Christ, Barnes,_ Bucky thinks, blinking the image away as best he can. _You are here to interrogate a possible criminal. Fuckin’ focus._

Except, this can’t be the guy because when Steve begins speaking again, Bucky’s even more certain that Steve’s isn’t the voice that had been discussing a supply drop-off.

“I just don’t understand,” Steve replies. “I’m not a criminal. I’ve never so much as littered, and you’re saying there’s evidence of criminal activity on my phone? It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Would you mind if I take a look at the phone?” Bucky asks, keeping his tone as light as possible. “If I can check it out, we might be able to determine what the issue is.”

Steve exhales through his nose, clearly annoyed to be handing off his cell phone to a federal agent, but he enters in the security code and does it anyway. Bucky immediately opens up the messages, scrolling through them quickly. He does the same with the recent calls.

Nothing except texts between Steve and his friends detailing plans to hang out and calls to his mother.

“Mr. Rogers,” Bucky looks back up to find those intense blue eyes trained on him, and _lord_ , do they have to be so damn pretty. “I wonder if you could tell me if you’ve experienced any service interruptions lately?”

Steve blinks rapidly, mouth opening and closing for a moment before he manages to sputter out, “Uh, yeah. _Yes._ Yes, I have.”

“Could you please describe these issues?” Natasha asks, pulling out a notebook and a pen. Steve tells them that lately, he’s been getting messages that his phone is already in use and that several times he’s been unable to make calls and hadn’t been able to figure out why.

“I was going to take it to the provider next week,” Steve explains. “See what the hell was wrong with it.”

“Mr. Rogers, it would appear that your phone has been cloned,” Natasha says. “Can you think of anyone you know with the skills to do something like that?”

“No,” Steve shakes his head, lips a thin, hard line, blue eyes blazing with annoyance. “No, I can’t think of anybody.”

“What about you-know-who?” Sam asks from the doorway, tilting his head to one side as he considers his friend. “Guy fixes computers and phones for a living.”

Steve’s face flushes the prettiest pink Bucky’s ever seen, and he mentally thanks Sam for bringing this up. “Who’s Mr. Wilson talking about?”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Steve mumbles, glancing up at Bucky through too-long lashes, and it’s all Bucky can do not to laugh out loud because the fact that this gorgeous man is open to dating men is almost as great as the fact that he’s not running a drug ring. He must be grinning, though, because Steve’s brow furrows in confusion when he looks back up at Bucky and says, “Not exactly a great guy.”

“Is that right?” Bucky smiles, letting his eyes drift, taking in the way Steve’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows and then dragging his eyes back up to meet Steve’s. “Can we get this ex-boyfriend’s name?”

“Brock,” Steve winces as his voice cracks slightly, and Bucky’s grin widens. “Brock Rumlow.”

 

* * *

 

_He’s flirting with you._

Except there’s no way that an incredibly attractive man like Agent Barnes could possibly find scrawny Steve Rogers attractive. It’s just not possible.

Steve has to be imagining the heat in the other man’s eyes as they linger on his throat, the way his perfect mouth curls into a wicked smile as their gazes lock. Wishful thinking, that’s all it is.

Agent Barnes takes down Brock’s information, and Agent Jones plays the recording of one of the calls just long enough that Steve is able to positively identify his ex’s voice.

“Apologies for interrupting your morning, gentlemen” Agent Romanov extends her hand with an apologetic smile, and Agents Jones and Morita follow suit. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Rogers.

Morita hands Steve his card. “If you could send me copies of your billing statements for the last couple of months, that’d really help us out. We’ll be in touch if we need anything more.”

Steve nods, gripping the card tight as Romanov, Morita and Jones exit the shop

“You can file a complaint with the Bureau if you’d like,” Barnes grins sheepishly at Steve as they shake hands, and Steve has to stop himself from inhaling deeply when he catches a whiff of the man’s spicy, musky scent. “Morita and Jones are good agents, but they have a tendency to be a bit overzealous at times.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Steve chuckles, marveling at how nice it feels to have the brunet’s hand firmly grasping his own. It’s sort of a shame they have to let go. “Hope you get your man, Agent Barnes.”

“You and me both, pal,” Barnes laughs, eyes narrowing as his focus drifts from Steve’s eyes. The brunet reaches out, thumb gently brushing the lower corner of Steve’s lips.

“Had a little cream cheese or somethin’ there,” Barnes’s voice is low and a little ragged, and Steve thinks he might need his inhaler again.

“Thanks,” he rasps out, wringing his hands together.

“Take care, Rogers,” Barnes smiles, and then he’s out the door.

“You know,” Steve turns to see Sam smirking at him. “I do believe that man would have made out with you on the spot if I hadn’t been standing here.”

“Shut up and go back to work,” Steve grumbles as he feels a blush rise to his cheeks.

 

* * *

 

Steve’s closing up the shop the next night when he hears a tap on the glass door. He looks up, and his breath catches in his throat when he sees Agent Barnes standing there in jeans, a t-shirt and a black leather jacket. It’s incredibly unfair that he looks as good in normal clothes as he does in his suit.

Steve walks over, unlocking and opening the door, then motioning the brunet inside. “Agent Barnes, this is certainly a surprise. What can I do for you?”

“Just wanted to come by to apologize again and say thank you,” the brunet smiles. “For the tip on Rumlow and for not lodging a complaint. Nat and I get into enough trouble as it is. You can, uh, call me Bucky by the way.”

“Bucky?” Steve grins, leaning back against the counter, liking the way Bucky’s eyes trace his slim frame.

“Middle name,” Bucky explains. “James Buchanan Barnes. Most everybody calls me Bucky.”

“Well, I’m glad to have helped, Bucky,” Steve replies. “Guess I oughta get a new phone and a new number, huh?”

“I think that would be wise,” Bucky says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, a small smile on his face. “I, um, I was wonderin’ somethin’.”

“Is that so?” Steve smirks, crossing his arms over his thin chest. Bucky exhales a laugh, stormy eyes lighting up as they meet Steve’s.

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, moving closer to Steve and then leaning forward and placing a hand on each side of the smaller man. Steve should be nervous that a strange man has him trapped against his counter, but all he can feel is desire coiling low and lazy in his belly at Bucky’s proximity. “I thought that since we inconvenienced you yesterday that maybe I oughta make it up to you. Buy you a cup’a coffee or somethin’.”

“Or somethin’ sounds good,” Steve replies, surprised by his own boldness as he reaches out, placing his hands on Bucky's hips.

The brunet grins, moving toward Steve slowly, giving him time to stop this. But Steve doesn't _want_ to stop what he thinks is about to happen.

Bucky's lips are soft and smooth against his, and Steve tightens his grip on the other man as Bucky cups his face, thumbs stroking a gentle back-and-forth across Steve's cheekbones. The kiss is innocent, gentle and lingering, but Steve's chest is still heaving as he pulls back.

“Dinner tomorrow night?” Steve asks, only slightly embarrassed by the breathless quality of his voice.

Bucky barks out a laugh, taking a few steps back. Steve misses the other man’s warmth immediately.

“Pick you up at eight?”

Steve grins, nodding. “It’s a date.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If anybody notices any glaring errors, feel free to let me know. As always, thanks for reading!


End file.
